


Busted

by SparkBeat



Series: Commissions [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/pseuds/SparkBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate wonders when he'll learn to just keep his mouth shut...thanks a lot Swerve!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busted

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a commission by the wonderful [Apocalypse-on-legs](www.apocalypse-on-legs.tumblr.com), as a gift for Rebmeme, thank you so much! 
> 
> Thank you [Iopele](www.iopele.tumblr.com) for proofreading for me!
> 
> Commission information can be found [here](http://the-sparkbeat.tumblr.com/post/139583432468/price-list-ficlet-100-500-words-1000) if you are interested. Thank you!

Tailgate stirred at his drink, leaning heavily on the bartop while Swerve bustled back and forth, serving up drinks and chatting away. 

 

“-gate? Tailgate!”

 

“Huh?! Oh! Swerve, I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention!” Tailgate laughed, scritching at the side of his helm and dimming the light of his visor down to a thin curved band in his approximation of a smile.

 

“S’okay! I was just saying, you must have seen a lot of crazy stuff, being part of the bomb disposal unit, yea?” Tailgate’s tank twisted up, and his straw stilled in his drink as his processor started running a mile a minute. Swerve stood patiently across the bar from him, wiping at a glass and grinning from ear to ear.

 

Time to do what it seems he was doing best these days.

 

“Oh! Haha...yea, um, you wouldn’t  _ believe _ the kind of problems we got called out to take care of!” He waved his hand between them, hoping desperately for someone,  _ anyone _ , to call Swerve’s attention away from him so he could make his escape. Maybe he could comm Cyclonus to come drag him away? No...he really shouldn’t...Cyclonus shouldn’t have to  _ always _ clean up his messes for him…

 

“Oh man, c’mon, you gotta share! I bet you’ve had some really  _ scary _ things you’ve had to clean up, yea?”

 

_ Yea...if you counted the recycled oil spills outside a medical facility in the middle the hottest part of the year as “scary,” _ Tailgate wanted desperately to say, but he held the bitter remark in and laughed instead.

 

“Yep!  _ Really  _ scary. There was this one time, long  _ long _ time ago, it was…” He wracked his processor for something,  _ anything _ , and finally blurted out the name of some long gone, half forgotten battle during one of the numerous confrontations with the Quintessons when he was newly forged. “They’d buried a bomb, a  _ massive _ one, under the main crossroads. If it blew, it was going to take out half the city, and the majority of the army with it!”

 

Swerve’s visor flared, and his mouth dropped open. 

 

“I don’t remember any mentions of a bomb like that in the history studies I downloaded on the Quintesson war…” Swerve didn’t sound  _ skeptical _ , so much as awestruck...but that didn’t reassure him any, because now the bartender was leaning over the counter, and his field was a riot of excitement and curiosity in the way Tailgate had always noticed when war veterans were sharing heroic tales of fantastical, unimaginable feats.

 

And now  _ he _ was the one sharing a tale. 

 

Too bad he didn’t know what happened next...

 

“Yea...it was  _ bad _ . But it was kept quiet, you know...no need to panic the masses. If we... _ I _ ...hadn’t been able to clean it up, then we would have started evac procedures, and then it would have been in the history files...but since we took care of it, we kept it hush hush.” Outside, he was playing it cool, leaning forward, resting one arm on the bar and gesturing with his free hand. Inside, he was tamping down on his field, trying not to let the absolute  _ panic _ flood out and give him away. What was he  _ doing _ ?! 

 

“Hey, Ultra Magnus! You were commander in that battle, right? That must have been  _ insane! _ Tailgate was so  _ brave! _ ” He wanted to feel happy, accomplished,  _ something,  _ about Swerve’s praise, but instead he just felt  _ sick. _

 

And then his processor caught up with his audials.

 

Out of the corner of his optic, he had seen movement, and his engine stalled when he realized Ultra Magnus, who had up until that point been sitting at a table on the other side of the room, had moved to sit next to him at the bar.

 

That was it.

 

He was busted.

 

He was going to the brig.

 

Cyclonus would have to come bail him out of trouble,  _ again _ .

 

His vents were seizing, and his pump stalled, while panic overrode everything else. He could feel his cheeks burning from the overspill of charge in his visor assembly, and his fingers dug into the surface of the bar under the shadow of his raised arm.

 

“Hey, woah, Tailgate, vent with me, mech, c’mon. In and out. It’s ok, you’re not back there, you’re here, you’re safe, c’mon, come back to me. Hey, Skids, go grab Rung for me, would ya?” He flinched back when Swerve’s hands closed around his arms, and realized with a hysterical little laugh that the poor bartender thought he was having a flashback or something. He could just imagine the disgust on that kind, if loud mouthed, mech’s face when Magnus revealed his duplicity.

 

_ Oh Primus... _ Cyclonus had  _ warned  _ him to stop with the stupid little lies.

 

“I-I’m..I’m ok, I’m sorry, I…” Magnus’ hand dropped down on his shoulder, covering a good portion of his back in the process, he was so massive, oh  _ Primus  _ he always forgot how  _ big _ the other mech was, but he could seriously crush him without a second thought….

 

The Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord cleared his vocalizer, and Tailgate snapped out of his mental funeral planning in time to hear the other mech speak.

 

“I was...regrettably...not in attendance for Tailgate’s heroics. Another load bearer wore the Magnus armor at the time.” 

 

...He got away with it?

 

He slumped against the bar, venting heavily and scarcely believing his own luck while Magnus spoke with Swerve, settling his tab. The hand stayed heavy on his back, and for long moments he let himself believe it was a comforting gesture. His back actually felt  _ cold _ when the large mech finally left, heading towards the exit, room temperature air swirling against plating warmed by a massive palm chilly to his dermal sensors.

 

He didn’t  _ care _ . The truth hadn’t been found out. He  _ got away with it! _

 

Mentally composing his own excuse to leave, to escape more questioning and retreat to his hab suite to hide until Swerve hopefully forgot the whole thing, he opened the memo that popped up on his HUD without thinking.

 

And promptly dropped his head, hard, onto the bar.

 

_ Tailgate, _

 

_ Please meet me in my office at your earliest convenience. I wish to speak with you about your part in the Quintesson war. _

 

_ Ultra Magnus _

_ Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord _

 

Ignoring Swerve’s concerned questions and hovering hands, he reread the memo twice more before deciding Magnus really  _ had _ realized he was fibbing.

 

Maybe if he hit his helm on the bar again, a little harder, he’d knock some sense into himself. Or knock himself unconscious. 

 

He wasn’t sure which was preferable at this point.

**Author's Note:**

> Commission information can be found [here](http://the-sparkbeat.tumblr.com/post/139583432468/price-list-ficlet-100-500-words-1000) if you are interested. Thank you!


End file.
